Circus

Trees stand inside the circle
Black sharp branches, rough against the sky
Dark hair curling towards the streetlamp night
And the trunks thrusting into the ground
Roots questing downwards in the warm earth
Suffused with life
I feel the warmth through concrete
My feet tingling as we walk around this potency
Within the stone circle of tall pale buildings
Drawn closer by their coldness
And the fallen leaves, the antidote to sound
When we kiss, dawn breaks where we stand
The leaves burn, the trees are on fire
We are rooted to the spot

Copyright K E Breadmore 2001